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Updated: May 19, 2025
Ralston looked at him keenly, wondering with a queer amusement whether he had not blunted the keen edge of that tool which he was keeping at his side because he foresaw the need of it. But there was no sign of any softening upon Linforth's face. He could be hard, but on the other hand, when he gave his faith he gave it without reserve.
Behind them an officer and his wife from the cantonment were playing "Bridge" with Ralston and his sister. Violet Oliver hesitated. The window opened upon the garden. Already Linforth's hand was on the knob. "Very well," she said. But there was a note of reluctance in her voice. "You will need a cloak," he said. "No," said Violet Oliver.
But Linforth's eyes travelled over the trees and the gardens northwards and eastwards, to where the foothills of the Himalayas were coloured with the violet light of evening. "Linforth," Ralston cried. He was leaning on the parapet at the opposite side of the tower, and Dick crossed and leaned at his side. "It was I who had you sent for," said Ralston in his dull voice.
He was immersed in the second letter which the Diwan had handed to him. "Who is it?" asked Dewes. "Linforth's wife." "His wife!" exclaimed Dewes, and, looking at the photograph again, he said in a low voice which was gentle with compassion, "Poor woman!" "Yes, yes. Poor woman!" said Luffe, and he went on reading his letter.
"And how should I prevent them?" asked Dick Linforth in perplexity. "You know Shere Ali?" said Ralston "Yes." "You are a friend of his?" "Yes." "A great friend. His chief friend?" "Yes." "You have some control over him?" "I think so," said Linforth. "Very well," said Ralston. "You must use that control." Linforth's perplexity increased.
And in a house at the foot of the Sussex Downs Linforth's young wife leaned over the cot of her child with the tears streaming from her eyes, and thought of the road with no less horror than the people of Chiltistan. Meanwhile the great men in Calcutta began to mobilise a field force at Nowshera, and all official India said uneasily, "Thank Heaven, Luffe's on the spot."
Linforth asked. "None," the agent replied, and Linforth's fever of impatience was assuaged. If trouble were threatening he would surely be in time since there were only three and a half more days. But he did not know why he had been brought out from England, and the three and a half days made him by just three and a half days too late.
"Linforth's still at Chatham," replied Shere Ali shortly. "Yes, but you are here. You might make a beginning by yourself." "They won't let me." "There's the road," suggested Dewes. "They won't let me add an inch to it. They will let me do nothing, and they won't let Linforth come out. I wish they would," he added in a softer voice.
Linforth sat down again on his chair and, as though he were almost unaware of Ralston's presence, he smoothed out upon his knee the sheets of the letter. Ralston could not but observe that they were crumpled and creased, as though they had been clenched and twisted in Linforth's hand. Then Linforth raised his head, and suddenly thrust the letter into his pocket.
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